


Ugly Betty

by arcaneScribbler



Series: Player Count 8 + 2 [13]
Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Ace-Aro Condesce, Ace-Aro Meenah Peixes, Blood, Condie affected by Chucklevoodoos is not a troll you want to meet, Disassociation, Fish Puns, GHB is a giant soft-spoken Ragey teddy bear tbh, Gen, Handmaid is sad tired and awkward, Handmaid uses hers to write, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Other, Psii is an ass, Trolls are Weird, and everyone loves him for it, but sweet in her own way, do not try to assassinate the Empress of Alternia, don't worry it won't all be pain, if the beta human guardians knew stuff then why not the Ancestors too, it will not end well for you, major character death because this is the Alternian Ancestors so everything is PAIN, memory recovery, sad old lady Condie, trolls don't have a concept of either of these so she just thinks she's 'bad', will add more tags once applicable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-05 20:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 5,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5389646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcaneScribbler/pseuds/arcaneScribbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Once upond a time, your name was MEENAH PEIXES and you thought you could do anyfin you put your pan to.</em><br/><em>Oh how wrong you were.</em><br/> </p><p>Her Imperial Condescension, from Beforan Runaway to Coexian Co-Empress, and every face in between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Heiress (Beforus)

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, here we go! I have no real clue what I'm doing with this, but hey, at least it's something, right? Chapters are going to be short at first, and I'm debating whether or not to upload everything I have or do a chapter a day or something, but they'll get longer eventually, I'm sure. Probably not what you were expecting from the girl who tends to write Striders more than anyone else, but I hope people like it regardless!

======>

Your name is MEENAH PEIXES, HEIRESS TO THE BEFORAN THRONE, and you will never, _ever_ be Empress.

You don't care what anemoneone else sinks atrout it. You're no suckerfish, and you want _nofin_ to do with that pail of worms. You know how the world _REELLY_ works. It doesn't manatee how glubbin' nice the Empress clams to beach, how prettily she paints everyfin, oar how much she tries to coddle the whole codforsaken planet. It's all rotten to the core.

Why should you have to take care of all these trolls you're so much betta than, that you'll outlive by sweeps upond sweeps upond sweeps? Efin without how pan-numbingly _moronic_ some of the reasons for culling can be, it's just so STUPID, and a lie all the same! The whole culling as caretaking thing? It's jaws _guilt._ Just a great big excuse for her wave of eeling with the reel issue.

If you were in charge, you'd tell it like it is. No coddling, and no excuses. No stupid highbloods-as-grubsitters nonsense to distract from what _reelly_ happens to all those Lusi, and trolls would have to earn their way on their own dam merits.

But you'll never _be_ in charge, because that would mean following in your stupid ancestor's wake, and you will never, _ever_ do it.

Sea, there's one thing no one, _no one_ can change, and it's why everything the great and eminent coddlefish otherwise known as Her Imperial Compassion says is squall just blowfish in the end.

No matter what, Gl'bgolyb's still gotta eat.


	2. The Hero (Game Over)

======>

You are MEENAH PEIXES, THIEF OF LIFE, and you are aboat to die.

You and your entire crew of twelve have glubbed this up royally, in so many waves, and all that's left for you now is to play your part and close the curtain on this shitty excuse for a story.

The Scratch is starting. In a few moments, you'll all be gone, and twelve otter stupid wrigglers will be left to clean up your mess. But you're Meenah Peixes, abdicated Heiress and Player of this horribubble Game, and you've always been a shore loser, so you refuse to let it end like this.

You know exactly what you have to do.

You deploy the bomb.


	3. The Scratched (So Start Over)

======>

Your name is MEENAH PEIXES (BUT IS IT, REELLY?), FUCHSIA-BLOODED TROLL, and you know things you shouldn't.

There's a whole history in your pan belonging to some otter gill, a gill with your name and face but a conchpletely different life, and you don't know if it's a glitch or knot, if it's a mistake, a punishment for cheating, but you're stuck with it now.

You remember the Game, and plenty of before. Not everyfin, but plenty. Enough to know that that gill is Meenah and you're... not. Your name isn't Meenah anemonemore, not reely. So you make yourself a new one.

Meenah's ancestor called herself Empress Kindness. You are not that person. You're just... bad. You know that now, looking back on it all. You're no hypocrite like her, shore, but you're not kind, either. You're coarser than sand, fickle as the waves, and wear away everyone and everything you touch in the end.

So you commit to it. You know you're awful, you've always _been_ awful, and you'll always _be_ awful, so you throw your bloodpusher into being the best sort of awful you can be. You're betta than everyone else, and you know it. You _own_ it, and wear it like a mask, because it's all you have left. You have no choice. It's what you have to do. You know better than to reach out to anemoneone. (They're all strangers, anyway.)

You look down on everybubbly because you're so far above them all, and that's exactly how it should be.


	4. The Conqueror (S U C K E R S)

======>

Your wiggler name DOESN'T MATTER ANEMONEMORE, even if you hadn't forgotten it, and you are a suckerfish.

You aren't alone, and you aren't panrotted. There's someone else who remembers SGRUB. She calls herself the Handmaid. You don't remember who she used to be, and you don't ask.

It doesn't take her too many visits to bring you up to speed. You're all prawns in a bigger fish's Game, and the roles may have changed but you still have no choice but to play.

Your fate is to conquer, and that is exactly what you'll do.


	5. The Condescending (Brutality Is Not Strength)

You are THE CONDESCE, EMPRESS-TO-BE, and you will not stop swimming this channel no matter how much blood soaks your 2x3dent.

Talk of the ambitious, ruthless troll with fuchsia-tinted eyes still halfway filled with adolescent grey spread further and further by the night. You're making progress. Soon, everyone will know and fear you, and you will take your rightful place on the throne, just as planned.

You krill every lime-blooded troll who crosses you, every single one you come across, because they _don't belong._ Rust, bronze, gold, olive, jade, teal, cerulean, blue, indigo, violet, fuchsia, and one more you can't quite sea, even in your dreams. Those are the colors of the Players. There's only one shade of mutant that you'll allow, and you knew from your first hook at that foreign hue that lime isn't it. You can't let anemoneone who isn't supposed to be here slip your net.

They won't fail like you did. You'll make shore of it.


	6. The Throned (As Planned)

======>

You are HER IMPERIAL CONDESCENSION, NEWLY-CROWNED EMPRESS OF ALL TROLLKIND, and you have a Session to prepare.


	7. The Weary (Slow Frost)

======>

You are THE RULER OF THE ALTERNIAN EMPIRE, and the sight of troops arrayed beneath a fuchsia banner has never seemed right to you.

Every last limeblood is dead, with the help of a familiar face and his Subjugglator cult. If the Grand Highblood has anything in common with his doppelganger beyond his appearance, he isn't telling. You certainly aren't aboat to pry.

Your chief Orphaner is another 'friend.' Dualscar is oceans more palatable than the vague impression of a greasy slimeball in your fading memories, but remains someone you wouldn't exactly call good company. Then again, you may be biased. What you can still remember of him isn't very flattering.

All he does is try to make you jealous of his kismesis, anyway. His kismesis, that he is supposed to capture, because she is _a glubbing pirate._ Instead he's shoved her case off on the Legislacerators, and a neophyte jumped on it. Poor wriggler's doomed. Maybe you aren't as biased as you think. Maybe he's just an idiot.

Your Executor, too, reminds you of someone, but you couldn't put your flipper on it if you tried, and you're probubbly imagining it anyway. Running an empire isn't easy, especially when surrounded by inferior fools.

You're so tired.


	8. The Empress (Forgotten)

======>

You are THE EMPRESS and you stopped dreaming long ago.

The Handmaid hasn't visited in... how manatee sweeps, now? You're not shore. You must be playing your role well.

Or maybe she never visited you at all. Maybe the Demoness is just a legend. Maybe those faded 'memories' you can barely drag up out of the depths of your pan anymore were always just your imagination, some fancy delusion you cooked up from an abnormally pleasant day-terror you had as a wriggler.

Yeah... That's right. None of it is real. It's just a story you used to tell yourself so often you fooled yourself into believing it.

You haven't been a wriggler for a long, long time. It's not like you need fantasies anymore.

You are the Empress, just the Empress, and it's time for you to let go.


	9. The Uninvited (Restored)

======>

Tonight, you are NO ONE; just one member among many of an audience filled with more than enough fools hiding their blood colors behind gray anonymity gathered here to listen to a so-called prophet's speech for you to blend in just fine.

You're no guppy. You aren't about to just dismiss this Signless buoy as harmless or deem him a threat without doing a bit of fins-on snooping.

You watch as a hooded troll with nubby horns steps up to speak, flanked by a woman wearing jade and a scrawny bundle of twigs in yellow and black, notice a fourth troll in olive spreading open a journal to transcribe each word. He speaks loudly, clearly, openly.

It grates. Agitates something in you, something forgotten, something dormant, sleeping, slowly fading away _~~(all that pointless glubbing, all those pretty, lying words your ancestor tried to clam down your throat)~~_ , and if he keeps talking you may just krill him yourshellf right here and now, because if this mouthy scumblooded upstart sinks he is going to threaten your rule with such undertow blowfish, he has another thing comi—

_"...!!"_

The hood falls, and just like that, the Seer of Blood makes you _see_ again.


	10. The Reminiscing (Echoes of Another Life)

======>

Your name was MEENAH PEIXES once, and you _remember._

Signless talks on and on and glubbing _on,_ he reelly is speaking, you know he is, his lips are moving, but no manatee how hard you try to make out water the glub he's actually saying squall you clam hear is the tide rushing in your ears.

It eels like he's looking strait at you with those cherry-red eyes, but jaws like with his words, all you reelly sea is a runty little crab of a troll standing stiff as a breeze in a garish sweater.

You stay until the end, though, and watch him and his crew. Brings back a whale net full of memories. (Even the wave he gestures while he glubs is the same. Maybe a little more refined, shore, but apparently passionate flailing is passionate flailing, no matter the timeline.)

Then you abscond, for old time's sake.


	11. The Reconnected (Friendship is the Strangest Emotion)

======>

You're taking the back streets, because you're not a stupid pan-damaged wriggler, and it doesn't matter if anybubbly bothers you, because you'll just cull them for the offense. You're fin. Totally fin. Not rattled at all.

Then, of course, because it's knot like you haven't had enough excitement for one night (and _buoy_ is it strange to remember the way _she'd_ say that, stretchin out her E's like thrown 1x3dents all wrigglerish and cloying, _"------EXCIT------EM------ENT!"_ , ugh ugh ugh you eel filthy, you're takin a long bath back at the palace, ugh), some idiot taps you on the shoulder.

"Hey, water you think you're-!"

You whirl around, ready to fork a beach, and red and blue psionics pluck your 2x3dent right outta your fingers and leave it floating just out of reach. Meanwhile, the basshole who hooked it is... not attacking. Huh.

"Heyyyyy, no need two bee tho aggrethhive! I juthtth wantedth two thay hi."

The yellowblood who was up there with Ka- Ka... Kan-...? Can't quite grasp it right now. The yellowblood who was up there with the Signless is... not the type of buoy you'd expect to be tailed by, to say the leest. But here he is, grinning at you with a maw full of crooked teeth instead of running scared at the sight of your 2x3dent and glubbing at you with a raspy voice and a terribubble (and almost... familiar?) lisp, and you are not shore what to make of this seatuation at squall.

"My athhhole friend liketh talking two people individthually after hith dumb thermonth, and I notithed you thneaking off, tho I figured I'd follow you and thee if you'd bee willing to thtick around for a bit longer tho he doethn't cry like a little grub. Bethideth, it theemed like fun."

_Blow-glubbing-fish._ No one could possibubbly be that stupid, could they? He has to know who you are by now, right?

You drop your hood and glare at him, and the grubfucker doesn't even flinch. He _does_ know, then, sand isn't even bothered by it? Just how stupid _is_ he? Does he _want_ to die? Because that can seasily be arranged!

"Shore, an I was hatched yesterday. Give me one reason why I shouldn't cull you right now, _peasant._ "

"Oh, I can think of _lotthhh_ and _lotthhh,_ ehehehehe."

He. Just. Waggled. His. Coddamn. Eyebrows. At you. The _nerve_ of this-! Ocray, you know what? No. Glub this. You're done. Time to wrap up this up, fork this stupid buoy in the gut, and get the shell back to your hivesuite before the sun rises. You should be able to reach your weapon if you jump— is he smiling _wider?_ Dam, you knew psionics tend to be pan-damaged as shell, but—

"—gotth any Mind Honey, by the way? My luthuth'th beeing thtingy uhgain."

_**"Oh. My. Glubbin'. Cod."**_

Whaley glubbing codforseaken _shitbubbles_ you had no idea it was even porpoissible to be so undertowily surprised and unsurprised at the same time water the actseal _fuck_ it's _him,_ of course it's him, of course that basshole would remember, it's him sand he's here but why is he here sand how'd he know it wash you before you efin took out your 2x3dent, is it reelly him oar are you going craysea all over again, is it him is it him is it him-

"Is- is it you. Are you seariously who I sink you are? You- you'd betta glubbin' _hope_ you are, for your sake, becrawfish if you're knot I swear to cod I'll krill you. I whale krill you sand it'eel _hurt_ sand—"

"Ehehehe! Of courthe it'th me, Meenuh! Who elthe would it be, the fishthpailer? -Aw fuckth it'th almotht morning, bluuuhhhh, gotta run. Thay hello two Kurlothz for me!"

_Mituna fucking Captor_ cackles a little bit, deposits your 2x3dent in your hands, pats you on the back, and slips off into the early morning while you're still busy trying to restart your thinkpan.

(You kind of want to hoist him up by the collar of his stupid outfit and shake him until he squeaks, but you also kind of want to hug him until he squeaks instead (and maybe cry a little). As usual, eelings make no glubbing sense and never glubbing will.)


	12. The Reconciled (Roll Call)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **EDIT 12/11/2015:** Added Mindfang to those Condie wants to make sure of the identity of as well as just Redglare and tweaked that little monologue a bit.

======>

You are THE CONDESCE, and you are MEENAH PEIXES (THE SECOND, ANYWAVE), and you eel like you're properly awake for the first time in over a hundred sweeps.

You rush indoors with the first scorching rays of Alternia's sun nipping at your heels, wave off each and every conchcerned attendant, and retire to your hivesuite for the longest bath you've taken in... possibubbly ever, actshoally. You feel like staying abovewater this morning. Gl'bgolyb doesn't cling to you much since she knows full swell you know, so it's naut like she'll net cranky if you take some time for yourshellf.

Once you're there, all doors locked and orders sent out to leave you alone or else, you don't CAR-E what comes up, efin if a city is burning (CAR-E, huh? Feels like... you. Not Kindness, not Condesce, just... you. It's... an ice feeling), someone else clam deal with it, you sink under the bubbles and _think._

Mituna Captor. Craysea, scrawny little pan-broken yellowblood, but his post-Scratch shellf still has his salinity intact from the hooks of it. Makes you wish Meenah had known him beforefin, he seems like a bassy guppy. Kankri Vantas, obnoxious SJW mutant who somehow turned out shells better in this timeline and is now trooping all over Alternia with a tiny crew preaching atrout the kind of sociesea efin someone bad like you would aim for if you could without dooming trollkind to die, probubbly specifically to get your attention, which he has. The oliveblood and jadeblood with him must be Meulin and Porrim's reincarpnations.

Sand then there's the trolls who gathered around you. The Grand Highblood was Kurloz and Tuna-buoy _knew,_ Dualscar was Cronus, and... Oh, cod. Mindfang. And that neophyte on her tail... Latula and Aranea? Wait, wait, you're missing somebubbly, aren't you? Who... oh, yeah, Darkleer, your Executor. Darkleer was... Horuss. Void is tricky stuff. Must be why you're alwaves overhooking him.

Last but not leest, the Handmaid is... her. And you-... Meenah did somefin crawful to that gill, didn't she? No water she's been avoiding you.

You stretch idly underwater before breaching the surface to recline like a landdweller, counting off on your flippers.

"If that pirate gill and that neophyte are boat who I sink they are, nn, gotta... remember to do some snooping..., that's eleven outta twelve alreedy, huh? There's gondola be a good reason for the timing. Or a terribubble, painful one, but what isn't crawful around here as is? I'm... yawwwn... shore he'll show up schooner oar later. Cod knows how long it'll take for the players to splash down after that, boat all I gotta do is keep a ganderbulb out for meteors, right...? Mm..."

It's been a long night. You don't reelly eel like getting up an' swimmin down to your 'coon right now. You're fin going without sopor, an' you could use a nice gill-soaking seassion anywave, so... just gonna...

"...goodday..."

You drift off right there in the bath and sink into renewed dreams of another life on a planet with two moons and a group of dumb guppies who got suckered into playing a Game they were never meant to win.

(A hushed sigh, whisper-soft in the quiet of your quarters.)

"Goodday."


	13. Interlude (The Handmaid)

======>

**HIC's Palace, Alternia; Daytime, Signless Period**

You are THE HANDMAID and you are TIRED.

Then again, you are always tired. Watching THE CONDESCE sleep is a vicarious experience for you. You know that she alone of all trolls will continue on even after you finally earn your end-that-is-not-quite-an-end, and so she is easiest to watch over, regardless of her current chronology.

Besides, it wouldn't do for the Empress of all trollkind to die of something as undignified as accidentally boiling alive. She needs to live so that she can eventually take your place, and after that... After that, all you can do is hope she will be able to bring this story to its conclusion.

How many times have you had to shield her from the sun so far? From her perspective, you believe this may be the first. From yours... well, that awful morning is yet to come.

You know exactly why your presence is necessary at this point in time, and so here you are, and for now, that will have to be enough.


	14. The Supported (Perks of Being in Cahoots With a Time Traveler)

======>

You are YOURSHELLF, and conchtrary to popular opinion, you are not alone in this world.

You wake up to closed curtains, a bath with redrawn water just a tadpole too warm, a single chair still standing sentry over the tub, the scent of a very pacific flavor of aromatic smoke, and the corpses of no less than ten unfintunate would-be assassins. (They do not at all hook like they were krilled using a 2x3dent. Shore it would have made things much shrimpler if they had, but where's the fun in that? You sink you'll just leave them like this, keep all the guppies guessing.) Pinned to the chair by a delicate-looking hair-stick (that is undoubtedly nofin of the sort considerin who it belongs to) is a note that you are naut at all surprised to sea was written neatly in maroon blood. The writing medium doesn't bother you. You've seen worse.

 **TAKE 'BETTA' CARE OF 'YOURSHELLF', CONDESCE.**  
**THE PSIIONIIC WAS NOT THE ONLY TROLL TO RECOGNIZE YOU LAST NIGHT.**  
**I DEALT WITH THEM.**  
**HISTORY CAN WAIT A FEW PERIGEES.**  
**ENJOY THE TIME YOU HAVE.**  
**'SEA' YOU SOON.**

If the trolls you call in to clean up the mess wonder why you're smiling, none of them are brave enough to ask. A little disappointing, maybe, but hey, you chose fear over love a long time ago. The Empress doesn't need to get chummy with jaws anemoneone an everyone.

Betides, a failed assassination attempt is the perchfect excuse to go glub at the Grand Highblood. Perks of bein ruler of Alternia is you clam mostly do waterever you want when you're knot busy running the place, but it helps to have legit reasons to back you up once in a whale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((These two have the _weirdest_ friendship, what the heck, girls.))


	15. The Feared (Lost in the High)

======>

You are HER IMPERIAL MOTHERFUCKING CONDESCENSION and _nobubbly_ fucks with you sand gets awave with it.

You make shore to put on a good show when you arrive at your undereeling's beachside hivequarters, all suited up with your best 2x3dent out and the sign of Pisces clear as springwater in fuchsia over black, hooking steamed as clam be and stalking on into the blood-painted halls like the predator you are.

It feels so dam _good_ to have fishes as scary to common guppies as these scrambling otter your wave. Who's in charge here? You are, that's glubbin' who, and this perigee's pathetic batch of laughssassins ain't gonna glubbin' change that!

**"Aight guppies, make like fish an' get swimmin' unless you feel like being culled. You have until the count a none."**

Aww _shell yes_ it's ice as glub to watch them scramble, especially when some poor suckerfish isn't quick enough to avoid a bit of 'encouragement' in the waveform of a shiny 2x3dent lodged in the floor right in fronta his face.

Hahahaha! Hook at him, running scared all green in the gills! An' these are the _Subjuggulators!_ The cream of the crop crewmates of the big shoal meaty-bass fist of the Empire hershellf, cowed by little old you! Tonight is shaping up to beach a waterful night!

You give the pathetic school of clownfish cultists a minnow to clear the area, waiting for sweet, sweet terrifried silence to fall in the wake of your sheer crawsome and manatee hasty exits, then saunter over to the throne in the back and leap up to lounge in it. Once you're ice and cozy in the land of paint and bones, you suck in the deepest breath you can and holler loud enough to make your ball-an'-chain of a lusus proud.

_**"OY! G-E-E AIC)( B-EAC)(! G-ET YOUR RANCID PAINT SPLAS)(-ED BASS OUT )(-ER-E!"** _

Theeeere we go, lard-heavy finsteps tromping your wave, slow an' lazy as ever. Dam seagoat's got some nerve, keeping you waiting like fish. You're not just anybubbly, you're the coddam Empress, sand you could krill him right here if you wanted, jaws for the halibut, and who'd be able to say you couldn't? Nobody, that's who! _You're_ the Empress, you rule this shitpuddle planet, and waterever you say goes!

"Get your sweet ass off of my motherfucking throne, Empress."

Naaaah. Y'oar havin _wave_ too much fin to stop now, an' who's he to tell you what ta do? Nobubbly, that's who. Nobubbly, nobubbly, nobubbly.

**"Why if it ain't the Grand Cullbait himshellf, slower than a sea-slug as usual! _Fin_ ally deigned to grace us with your presence, hmm?"**

Basshole has the gull to _sigh_ at you, an did he just _roll his eyes?_ Oh shell no he didn't, nobody treats you like a wriggler an lives to tell the tale, you'll teach him a lesson to end squall lessons, how dare he-!

His eyes close and open back up _glowing,_ what the glub does he sink he's doing, how dare he, how _dare_ he-!

**"Back the glub up you coddam dirtdwellin' peasantblooded sack a shameglomes, I fuckin' order you ta BACK OFF, I'll glubbin' stick a fork in you, don't think I won't!"**

Does he seariously think he's gonna get at your pan like this, how dare he, how _dare_ he, how glubbin' DAR-E )(-E, you'll krill him, you'll krill him,  you'll krill him glubbin' _D-EAD—_

_**CALM YOUR MOTHERFUCKING TITS, SISTER.** _

The haze you hadn't efin noticed was there drains outta you so fast you keel over and get caught by a huge-bass troll like he was ready for it, which you guess he was? What just... uuugh...

...


	16. Interlude (The Grand Highblood)

======>

You are THE GRAND HIGHBLOOD, and you are TOO OLD FOR THIS HOOFBEASTSHIT. Which is saying something, because you haven't even hit the midpoint of an indigo lifespan yet.

You're just glad you were watching the fresh meat practice from the shadows instead of chilling back at your block. Mirthful Messiahs know what could've gone down otherwise.

As it is, you've got an unconscious Empress in your arms, a pan buzzing unpleasantly with residual 'voodoos, and so much negativity still clinging to her psyche you were actually worried you wouldn't be able to break its grip for a second back there. Destination, your hiveblock. Easier to let her ride it out there; no need to deal with anyone too curious for their own good seeing or hearing anything they shouldn't like you would if you kept her in the main hall, and you can just pin her to the couch with one hand like any other rageblind wriggler until the echoes fade.

The look in her eyes when she had the smiling mask laid on thicker than your facepaint, though... damn. Your Empress really does look like her, doesn't she? The resemblance didn't go away when she got her frown on, either. Not that it matters much even if she is that girl. You wouldn't know where to even begin trying to shake the ghost of a life before Alternia out of her pan if she was, and it's not like you have much of that stupid kid who wrecked both his reds in you as is. Just enough to know he existed, he exists, and he'll keep on existing as long as you do, because you were him and he became you.

Then again, she _does_ share her sign. And it's not like she's awake to hear you. What's the harm in asking? Once she's sleeping calmly and your own pan stops aching, anyway. Wouldn't want to make the same sort of mistakes he did with a voice like yours.


	17. The Unguarded (What's in a Name)

======>

_~~("...you in there, Peixes?")~~ _

You are, uh... you know your name is MEENAH and your title is CONDESCE, you think, you just woke up with a beaching headache, and you're not too shore of anyfin beyond that.

Where is this? It definitely isn't the moon, or the Game, or your quarters, or... yeah, you have no glubbing clue where you are. Nice and dark, at least. Nofin makes sense an everyfin aches, bluh. Whoever's taking a juggling club to your pan right now needs to stop, like, yesternight.

"...gh..."

"Evening, motherfucker. You awake for real this time or do I need to hold you down again?"

You're pretty shore you know that voice. Yeah... Yeah, you do. Is this his respiteblock? Why would you be in his respiteblock? Why would he need to hold you down? You don't indulge in soporifics, you're betta than that blowfish, so why do you feel like you've been bashed into a cliff at high tide? Ugh...

"Whuh...?"

"I'll take that as a yes, you're up. _Damn_ did the bloodrage do a number on you, sis. Seems I've got more than a few sloppy brothers to bash some proper fucking Chucklevoodoo management skills into, but it's not like they were the only ones fucking around with shit what smart trolls don't fuck around with, yeah? Whatever the hell possessed you to make you think up and waltzing on into the heart of the Dark Carnival with your pan wide open like that would be a good idea? Here I thought you of all trolls would know better, but seeing as you're not in up and proper possession of your own skull at the moment, I guess you motherfucking didn't. Aren't you fishy types supposed to be less susceptible to this shit?"

Huh?

"Water you glubbin' on about, Makara...?"

You manage to catch him tensing up in spite of the misery that is your entire head right now, and- ohh, he probubbly doesn't mean for it to be, but that growl was... pretty nice. Thrummed your horns just right to pull some of the pressure off. ...Actshoally, maybe he did mean for it to be, if it's helpin' you think? Why does everyfin have to be so confusing right now?

_"What."_

"Water you mean, what, you glubbin' skullfish? Reelly knot in the mood for your shit, Kurloz."

Kurloz, Kurloz... there was somefin you were supposed to tell Kurloz... right, right. You got this. Even with the pan-ache to end all pan-aches, you got this.

"Your morayeel says hi, by the wave. Sink I met him... saw him? No, definitely met him, and it was... what, last morning? Maybe the morning beachfore? Last morning as far as I clam remember right now."

Dead silence.

It takes you a good few minutes (...mitunas? wait, why is that finny?) to sit up, but by the time you're able to look him in the face, your thoughts are starting to make some sort of sense again, so at least there's that. He hasn't moved at all.

"Whale? You ark Kurloz, right? I'm not glubbin' at the wrong seagoat indigoblood with seaweed hair and fishbone-themed fashion sense, am I?"

A choked bark of a laugh, rough and quiet, and for a seacond you swear you see stitches on his lips as his hands come up to shape a familiar round-nosed smile.

**:'o)**

"...Yeah, sis. I am."


	18. The Companion (Breaking the Ice)

======>

Kurloz carts you off to a spare recupracoon schooner enough and all but orders you to sleep off the pan-ache.

You're not shore why you let him, but it eels kind of nice to be treated like just another dumb wriggler for once. That and he's glubbing _huge,_ holy ship, how have you never noticed how rifishculously enormous the Grand Highblood is before? Seariously, he picked you up with _one hand._ One. Glubbing. Hand. How the shell are you supposed to argue with a manta ray who can pick you up with one coddam hand? You sink there's probubbly some kinda multiversal rule against it or somefin.

(His weird growling doesn't hurt, either. The ripples those sounds make are jaws too soothing.)

By the time you wake up, it's nighttime proper and you're _starving._ Your basshole friend (is he a friend?) was prepared for that, too, and sets you up with some grub before staring at you with eyes you can _sea_ struggling not to start glowing again.

"...Empress. You called me by a strange name while you were indisposed. A friend of yours as a wriggler?"

Oh, so _that's_ his angle. He thinks you don't reelly remember.

"No, G-H-Beach, I glubbed _your_ name."

"I've never told you my wriggler name, Empress."

Oh this buoy is precious.

"Drop the polite act, it doesn't suit you. I know _exactly_ who you ark, Kurloz Makara. I didn't say it just becraws I was pan-addled an' your psionics acted on you hopin' I did."

"...Hm."

"Water you want me to do to prove it, tell you somefin only she would know?"

"Haven't the slightest motherfucking idea what you're talking about, Empress."

This time it's your turn to roll your eyes. "Oh, you do, _Prince._ One hundred perchcent. _Thief's_ honor. So clam down alreedy. An' if you sink you're dreaming..."

He looks so lost, you can't help yourshellf. One gentle slap upside the cranial bonecage later, light enough he knows you're not pitchflirting or attacking, he finally slumps out of his (impressive) statue impression.

"Meenah Peixes the Second, Her Imperial Condescension and former Thief of Life, at your service."

" _Conch_ descension."

Did he just-...?!

"...Heh. Your eyes light up the same."

"Believe me now, you big clownfish?"

"Eh. Jury's still out on that one, sister. Check back in a few nights, maybe."

"Bass."

_"Dam strait."_

"Omicod _stop!_ You're krilling me here!"

"What's the matter sis, can't handle a motherfucking chuckle every once in a _whale?"_

"Pffff-! I could krill you _so_ hard right now, you know that?"

"But you won't."

_**"Dam strait**_ I won't! C'mere!"

You promptly tackle a troll more than twice your size and shove a slice of grubloaf into his greasepaint-covered face. The ensuing food fight leaves a mess worthy of at _leest_ a dozen wrigglers. It's glorious.

(Heh. You'd forgotten what friendship felt like. Never thought you'd be getting a reminder quite like this, but you wouldn't trade it for all the gold on Beforus and Alternia combrined.)


End file.
